Boxes
by colorfauxtograph
Summary: "His mother had, if he remembered correctly, been a fan of the bohemian look  ::she wore the earth, all warmth and softness and love:: ." Kurt discovers a bit of himself while looking through his mother's old things.


_**Goodness! This is one of the longer fics I've written (as far as a one shot, anyway). Written at 2:30 a.m. last week after I finished watching all the episodes of my new favorite obsession: Glee.**_

_**I just love Kurt. I always fall in love with those characters who go through the death of a loved one (my mother died when I was fifteen) and ever since I started getting to know Kurt's character, I have been dying to write this story. Here it is, pretty much unedited (proofread and beta'd by my best friend, who is a math major, so it's not her fault). **_

_**Enjoy!  
><strong>_

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><p>"<em>I'm beautiful in my way, 'cause God makes no mistakes. I'm on the right track baby I was born this way."<em>

Kurt Hummel shifted in bed, mentally cursing himself for staying up too late the night before. Wiping his sleep crusted eyes (_Ugh, gross!) _he tossed a hand to his bedside table, where his phone lay charging. Turning off the alarm, he gasped audibly. He had slept in; it was eight-thirty and there was no way he could make it all the way to Dalton for his first period. Throwing the covers off, he leapt out of bed, scrambling to the bathroom he shared with Finn.

One look in the mirror and he knew he wouldn't be going to school. Nope, no sir. His face was blotchy and red in places, and he had faint violet circles under his eyes. Sighing, he almost regretted staying up until all hours of the night talking with Blaine.

Almost.

No longer in such a hurry, Kurt let his mind wander to the night before. He and Blaine had talked for hours because Blaine was leaving to visit his parents in Vermont for spring break.

Oh.

Kurt let a relieved sigh past his lips. It was spring break for the schools in their region. He was free for a whole week. No uniforms, no curfews, no Warbler practice...

No Blaine...

But that was fine, Kurt thought to himself as he turned on the shower. After their loss to New Directions at Regionals, the Warblers had fallen into a state of mild depression. Even though they still practiced, Wes was being a little lenient and allowed them to basically sing whatever they wanted. They even cut practice short, simply because there seemed to be no point.

While he didn't really approve of everyone's angst, he certainly appreciated all the newfound free time. Time he spent with Blaine. And Blaine's lips.

Their relationship had, in Kurt's opinion, went from zero to sixty in less than two days. Not that he minded, he _was _a teenage boy, but it seemed like all he and Blaine had done for the week after Regionals was make out and talk. For someone who didn't know jack about romance, Blaine seemed to be doing just fine with sweeping Kurt off his feet.

As he showered, he thought about Blaine's decision to visit his family. Kurt was glad for it, really. He knew that if Blaine had stayed at Dalton for the break (what usually ended up happening) Kurt would have been severely tempted to stay with him. Or invite him over.

However, Blaine's trip had been planned since Christmas, and Kurt needed to spend time with his family. Ever since he started at Dalton, he had to juggling his studies, the Warblers, Blaine and his friends from McKinley that when he was home for weekends he didn't spend the time with his family that he wanted.

Well, he now had a whole week to bond. He had a new stepmother, stepbrother, and a father who was probably clogging his arteries with all sorts of things now that Kurt wasn't watching his food like a hawk.

Kurt stepped out of the shower feeling more relaxed and refreshed than he had in a long time. This week would be good for him.

* * *

><p>As it turns out, Kurt was the only one home that day.<p>

His father's and Carole still had work until the evening. Finn had celebrated his freedom with going on a short road trip to Columbus with Puck and Sam, and wouldn't be back until the next day.

So much for the bonding. He did have plans with Mercedes and (_sigh) _Rachel the next day, but his Monday was free.

And he was _bored_.

Even if you're friends with the entire town, there isn't much to do in Lima. Of course, he could go shopping, but he had spent most of his money on Pavarotti's funeral ensemble and casket. He could watch television, but this early in the day he would be subjected to either daytime talk shows or soap operas. Kurt wasn't _that _gay.

He settled on watching some old movies. He was halfway through _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Blaine.

_-so how's your spring break going so far?-_

Smiling brightly, Kurt typed a response quickly, pausing the movie.

_-Absolutely boring. No one is home, and I have nothing to do except marvel at Audrey Hepburn. Can you talk?-_

That would help, Kurt thought. Even though they had agreed to keep their contact during spring break limited to short calls and texts, Kurt couldn't help it if he just happened to talk to Blaine for an hour.

-_unfortunately i can't...i'm about to take off from columbus. just wondering what you were up to. it could be worse though. my mother has already informed me that she will be enlisting my help in spring cleaning as soon as i get off the plane.-_

Kurt bolted up from his position on the couch. Of course! There were tons of old boxes lying around in the attic, and Kurt was dying to go through them and throw old junk away. Or find some treasures. He had been watching Cash and Cari on HGTV recently, and knew that with his dad's pack-rat tendencies, he could come out of this several hundred dollars richer.

_-Look on the bright side, you just helped me solve my boredom crises. Have a nice spring break, I'm going to go get dirty.-_

Well, he probably should have worded that better. Dismissing it, knowing that it would give Blaine something to think about at any rate, he strode up to his room to change into something suitable for spring cleaning.

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><p>Kurt and dust did not mix well together. As soon as he pulled the ladder down, a plume of dust (<em>oh my God are those dead moths?) <em>hit him full force, causing his nose to itch. After the obligatory sneezing bit, the dust settled enough for Kurt to climb cautiously up the ladder to the dark attic.

If he believed in ghosts, he suppose this would be spooky. The attic was huge, spanning the entire length of the house. Most of it was that pink fluffy insulation stuff crisscrossed by the planks of that was essentially holding their house up. There was an area right beside the ladder though, where someone had taken the trouble to put a solid floor over the insulation, enabling them to store some old furniture and boxes. Kurt eyed the floor carefully, fully expecting it to cave in as soon as he put weight on it.

Throwing caution to the wind, he walked hunch back over to the pile of boxes he knew to be theirs. He wasn't going to go through any of Carole's things. Kurt knew that her former husband's old clothes and items were stored up here somewhere, and he wouldn't dare go through any of it without her explicit permission. And maybe not even then.

He began with the Christmas ornaments. He had noticed this past year that there were several old ornaments that had been cracked or completely shattered either in the move or by them while putting them up. Kurt rummaged around until he had a respectable pile of junk: garland that was knotted and molting, broken balls _(in no way is that funny, I need to stop hanging around Finn) _and what he could only assume was several hundred feet of tangled Christmas lights. He then neatly organized the boxes, labeling them in Sharpie, and stuffed the unsalvageable items into a black trash bag.

Kurt worked through the morning, stopping briefly to eat lunch with his father. When he'd told Burt about his plans for the day, his father's gaze darkened a bit. Leaning across the table towards Kurt, he placed a hand on his arm.

"Kurt, you know I trust you, but just be careful when you're up there," he said slowly.

Smiling fondly, Kurt placed a small hand over his father's. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm not going to fall through the roof. I work very hard to maintain my perfect figure!" Kurt joked.

They made their way into the kitchen to clean up. "That's not what I'm worried about. A lotta your mom's stuff is up there. Stuff I couldn't throw away, but couldn't bear to keep around, you know?" His father sighed, clapping him on the shoulder, "Just make sure you're ready for what you might find."

"...Dad..." Kurt began, his throat tightening. He thought of his mother every day. He knew that all her stuff was up there, all the boxes in the far corner had _Anna_ written on them in his father's thick blocky handwriting. Kurt had been too young to help with packing his mother's things up. His father had to do it alone.

"It's nothing bad," Burt began, seeing the apprehension in Kurt's eyes, "just a lotta old memories. Hell, some of that stuff you might not even know about. You might like it, she had so much makeup and jewelry, it's all still up there." Burt smiled fondly, lost in memories.

"Hell, it might even be good for you. You know, looking at her stuff, it helps you remember stuff about her you never thought you knew in the first place." They were both silent for a long time, then Burt abruptly ruffled Kurt's hair. "I gotta go back to the shop. Remember what I said Kiddo."

With that, his father left him to his thoughts.

Kurt remembered her. He had been eight when she died. It was a double edged sword. While he wouldn't give up his short _(much, much too short) _ time with his mother, he sometimes envied Finn for his situation. When Finn talked about his dad, it was different. Finn hadn't known him, hadn't seen him save for pictures. Kurt could still remember the way his mother's laugh sounded _(bells or chimes, whichever was prettier). _

But there were some things he didn't know about her. Now that he was older, he wanted to know all sorts of things about her. Did she have a favorite designer? What dress did she wear to prom? Who did she go to prom with? Did she ever have trouble in school with Karofsky's?

He couldn't ask his dad. Kurt had an illogical fear that if he asked Burt about her, his father would be angry with him. As if it was privy to only Burt, that his son had lost his chance to learn those things and it was all just too bad so sad.

If Kurt went through those boxes, maybe he could find out what he was searching for.

* * *

><p>There were three boxes. There was nothing to hint at what was inside them, so Kurt blindly chose one at random.<p>

The first one he opened was filled with music. Sheets upon sheets of piano concertos, sonatas, and Broadway songbooks. This he knew about his mother. She had played piano, and even gave lessons to earn a bit of money on the side. Kurt remembered her teaching him, her long fingers gently covering his own chubby ones, as they played the melody of Für Elise.

There were handwritten pieces too. Some of them seemed to be songs she had heard and tried to write them down. Her notation was messy, and it seemed as if she had been in a hurry. There were others, single sheets of unfinished melodies that she had written. Kurt remembered this two. Remembered her sighs as she tried to get the harmony right on a particular piece.

As he fingered the fragile sheets of paper, his eye caught the edge of a spiral notebook underneath an unfinished attempt at "Achy Breaky Heart." Careful not to rip the sheets on top, Kurt gently pulled the notebook free and glanced at the cover. It was sheet music, or at least blank staffs. Opening the book, he was slightly surprised to see his mother's spiky notation. But this piece was different. There was no title, but he could tell by looking at it it was a complete piece. Flipping the pages gently, he realized the song went on for quite a few measures. More than just a few bars long. His mother had written a song! An entire complete song. As he eyed the melody, trying to pluck it out of thin air, he noticed something in the top right corner of the first page.

_For Kurt..._

Two words. She had written this song for him. He didn't know when it was written, or what it even sounded like, but his heart nearly burst out of his chest. In awe, Kurt let his fingers travel the lines of the song, careful not to smudge the pencil marks. He would play it. He stopped taking lessons when she died, but he was sure he could play this. Especially if he put his mind to it, because she wrote it for him, probably fully intending for him to see it and play it one day.

Gently setting the notebook back into the box, he prepared himself to open another.

The second box held an assortment of makeup and jewelry. Kurt knew his father had kept her engagement ring _(on a chain around his father's neck, next to his heart_) and some of her more expensive necklaces and earrings down in his bedroom in a small jewelry box. He had touched and played with those pieces of her for hours when he was younger. This box held an assortment of casual necklaces and bracelets. Wincing at some of the particularly garish colors _(there is no reason for anyone to have a multicolored elastic bracelet made from plastic fruit)_ he began to untangle the necklaces.

From what he remembered of her, Kurt knew his mother was very fashionable. She had to have been, to produce someone so talented and aware of the fashion industry. These must have been her collections from years. Kurt definitely saw some bangles that he could work wonders with.

His mother had, if he remembered correctly, been a fan of the bohemian look. There was a period of time where she wore the long flowing skirts and peasant tops _(she wore the earth, all warmth and softness and love). _

This made him happy. As much as he loved Carole, she was almost a lost cause. Yes, Kurt had given her a makeover and shopped for some new clothes with her, but she still reverted back to mom jeans and sweat pants on days she was just lounging around the house. It made him happy _(and so terribly, terribly sad)_ that if his mother had been alive, then they would have clicked perfectly. She wouldn't have batted an eye to his crazy outfits and _(yes, they are a bit girly) _interior design efforts. Because no matter how odd he had acted when he was a child, be it wanting to paint his nails or put sparkles on every art project, his mother just laughed and allowed herself to be pulled along.

She loved him _(and maybe still does if he allows himself to believe in god for a split second) _no matter what.

Kurt wasn't surprised when the tears came. He didn't bawl or curl up into himself. He didn't sob or scream or hiccup. Kurt simply let them fall, surely leaving trails on his dusty cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them away, he simply allowed himself this little moment up here with the ghosts of his mother. Just a little cry, while he was alone.

The last box sat there, and Kurt imagined that he could probably get through this last one before Carole or his dad got back. Like the other two, he carefully popped the top open and peered inside the box.

There was a large quilt, Kurt could remember it from his parent's bedroom. It always sat on the foot of their bed, and his mother would snuggle up with it whenever they watched a movie or read. Out of all the things he'd found today, this didn't seem too bad. He picked it up, hoping for a split second the movies were right and it would still smell like her. Kurt gently lifted it to his face _(please please please i can't remember her smell anymore) _and breathed deeply.

He was pretty certain his mother didn't smell like mothballs. Sighing, but not really too disappointed. he pulled the blanket out to attempt to fold it in the cramped attic. As he pulled, the edge of the quilt caught on the box, causing it to fall over. Kurt heard something scrape along the inside of the box and fall with a soft _thunk_. Curious, he hastily folded the blanket and tipped the box towards him.

It was a video tape.

There was nothing labeling it, but it was with his mother's things. Kurt had seen plenty of home movies with his mother and him, his dad constantly playing camera man. He remembered putting on plays and concerts and press conferences just for the heck of it, dressing up in his mother's heels and playing the part of Julie Andrews in _The Sound of Music_. He had seen all of them, he and his father crying through every one of them.

Well, it couldn't hurt to watch it. Glancing at his phone, he noticed that his father would be home in about an hour if nothing held him back, and Carole soon after. He had just enough time to just see what was on the tape. It was probably nothing, or an old video that was left out of the collection.

_(or it's a sex tape)_

The thought came unbidden to his mind. A shudder went through him. There was no way that's what this was _(hopefully) _and even if his parents _were_ the types to make a sex tape, his father would have the good sense to hide it a little better. (ugh ugh ugh just stop thinking right now kurt hummel).

Well, he would just have to keep his hand on the STOP button, and pray to a god he didn't believe in that his parents were prudes.

Kurt cleaned up the attic as best he could, and headed downstairs to the living room. He didn't really want to watch this video out in the open _(because even if it wasn't a sex tape, it still had his mom on it and that was still a part of him he wasn't so used to sharing) _but unfortunately the only room that still had a VCR was the living room, simply because his dad refused to learn how to work the DVR. Popping the blank tape in, Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hand on the TV power button, mentally preparing himself for the worst possible scenario.

At the sound of his mother's voice though, his eyes flew open.

_"Burt stop! I look horrible!"_

He heard his father reply, apparently he was manning the camera, but Kurt wasn't focused on that. He was looking at his mother, brown hair pulled into a plait and her hands resting on her huge belly as she slowly walked out of the shot.

This was before he was born, while his mother was still pregnant with him. Glancing at the timestamp in the corner, he realized it was _right _before he was born. Three-thirty in the morning and his mother was probably just going into labor.

Kurt felt a little bit ashamed. This was a moment before his mom knew him, before she had met him. This moment should be a private occasion between his mother and father.

_"Calm down, honey. The contractions are still too far apart. I'm just walking some of the pain out."_ He watched his mother _(not yet, right now she's just anna)_ go offscreen, the camera following her blurring the background a bit. She sat down at a large upright piano, gripping the seat hard when another little contraction hit. After a few seconds, she glanced at the camera _(no she's looking past it maybe to burt maybe to me)_ and gave a sheepish smile, blue eyes crinkling around the edges.

_"How about I play for you, Kurt? Would you like that? Maybe it will make you want to get this show on the road!"_ Kurt laughed out loud. He liked this, seeing how his mother was before the sickness. She massaged her hands, looking down at the keys, and after a while she gently placed her hands on the ivories, and began to play.

Kurt didn't recognize the song. It was very light and simple. He realized it was probably a lullaby. Not the traditional Brahms' Lullaby, but something much quieter, much more special. But...

Kurt balked. It couldn't be, right? His heart hammering in his chest, he paused the tape, rushing up the stairs to the attic ladder, climbing as quickly as he could. He rushed to the box of sheet music, searching for that spiral notebook...

There it was. The song for him. He made his way back downstairs quickly. Seating himself on the sofa, he picked up the remote and rewound the tape. Kurt heard the first few bars of the lullaby.

It was the same song. She was playing his song. His heart swelling with something that he couldn't describe. The tears were coming in waves now, and Kurt scrambled to shut the notebook before he ruined the song.

After what seemed like an eternity _(but not nearly long enough)_ the song ended, and he heard his father talking to his mother, his voice soft and kind. She laughed lightly at something he said _(bells, he liked the way they sounded better than chimes)_ and spoke.

_"It's not finished yet, Kurt. I didn't want to finish it without getting to know you a bit better,"_ she beamed at him. _"I love you no matter what Kurt, you remember that."_

His mother glanced down at her hands, still resting on the keys of the old upright. _"I don't know what will happen in the future,"_ she sighed smiling, _"but always remember that we love you. Both your father and I, and we always will..."_

She let out a very uncharacteristic grunt as she hit another contraction. The tape went to static, presumably because his father had wanted to prepare for his arrival.

Kurt sat there, looking at his hands. His mother loved him so much, she was able to write a song about it. He was a singer, not a songwriter, and he could never even imagine writing a song. Especially one so unique and lovely. He was still in the same position, lost in his thoughts, when his father walked through the front door.

"Kurt?" asked Burt, confused. "What are you doing sitting here watching static?"

As Kurt turned to face him, his father noticed the red rimmed eyes filled with tears. Setting down his keys, he rushed to Kurt, worried that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let him mess around up in the attic. Maybe it had been too soon. "Hey, Kiddo, what's wrong?"

Kurt abruptly stood and wrapped his arms around his father's waist, breathing in the scent of oil and cars and a little bit of sweat and aftershave. Without a second thought, his father returned the hug, seeming to know what it stemmed from.

"You wanna talk about it before Carole gets home?" Burt asked, pulling away slightly to read his son's face.

Kurt shook his head slowly, pulling back fully and motioning to the couch with a sweep of his hand. "Sit down, Dad, I want to show you something. Then after that, we can talk."

Right now, Kurt wasn't a boy who watched his mother die. He wasn't Porcelain, or a Dalton Warbler, or even Blaine Anderson's boyfriend.

He was a boy who found exactly what he was looking for.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Oh my gosh! This story totally got out of hand. I was going to try writing a little one shot over Kurt finding some old mementos of his mother's and this monstrosity came out! Haha, it's been through some editing, not as much as I would like, but I had it beta'd. Let me know what you guys think.<strong>_

_**I may be starting a multi chapter Klaine fic (I'm dying to write one, but I don't have the best of luck with multi-chaps). If you have any requests or prompts you might like for me to do, just send them my way and I'll see what I can do. **_

_**Also, I know that there are a lot of you who have already read them, but if you like Klaine, definitely go check out CP Coulter's **__**Dalton**__**, beautifulwhatsyourhurry's stories, the SPAH-verse on LJ, and happyinchintz72's stories. Lovely lovely writers! Be sure to review this story, I never know how much you like/hate it until you click that little button down there!**_


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